“A river twice wet me
After woodframe had stretched me,
Once sharp knife had scraped me,
And a young man first cut me.
“Then the sun, it did dry me,
Now my hair had all left me,
And some cinders then rubbed me,
Before fingers had folded me.
“A feather has dyed me,
A reed also stained me,
Now two boards press on me,
And gold bands gird ’round me.
“What am I?”
Ecgbryt sat back, finished and very pleased with himself for a full three seconds until Swi?gar said, “I have it.”
“Hold, knight,” said Frithfroth. “You’ve answered your share-rather, you’ve answered your share and three others’. Let the rest of us try.”
With a twinkling eye, Ecgbryt poured himself a horn.
“Kippered herring,” Frithfroth answered, somewhat hastily.
“No, but a near guess.”
The table dropped into thoughtful silence a moment more.
“A fishing bark,” answered Godmund, “with oars and, hmm, feathers . . .”
“No.”
There was a further silence unticlass="underline" “Kippers,” Frithfroth insisted.
“Kippers or cod!”
Ecgbryt laughed and shook his head.
“If there are no more guesses beyond ‘kippers,’ ” Swi?gar drawled, “then perhaps I might be allowed . . . ?” The table assented.
“A book,” he said simply.
Ecgbryt reluctantly clapped his hands as the rest of the table nodded to themselves.
Swi?gar began his riddle:
“There is a strong, savagely bold house-guest
Who is the lord of my heart’s dwelling-place.
Hunger does not hurt my ferocious friend-
He thirsts, ages, but is not diminished.
Treat him honourably, and with respect,
And you will receive good fortune when you
Travel with him all the days of your life.
And at the end of the highway you are
Ensured a warm welcome into his vast family;
But misery rewards the servant who
Mistreats this most holy of visitors.
With him ahead of me, I will not fear
When this friend, kinsman, guest, travels onward
While I am forced to stay by the roadside,
Ever willing to part, as once we must,
Never again being able to meet.
Friends, if you please, speak the name or title
Of either this royal household-dweller,
Or my own name, both whom I have described.”
There was a groan from Frithfroth as he placed his head in his hands. “By the devil’s nose hairs, you’re a hard riddler.”
“It sounds like fire again,” Godmund grumbled.
“There are,” allowed Swi?gar with an agreeable nod, “similarities between the two, yes.”
The table was stumped. Ecgbryt scratched his head, Godmund kicked the table, and Frithfroth muttered oaths not heard in the British Isles for centuries. Eventually, Swi?gar was convinced to give them the answer. “The soul. The body is the host, the soul the guest.”
Frithfroth and Godmund insisted on a second reciting of the riddle and then sat in silence, rather morosely.
“‘Forced to stay by the roadside,’” muttered Godmund, and blinked his grey eyes slowly. A heaviness fell upon the hall.
Daniel and Freya, being adequately fed by their dry meal, sat in silence, amused and bewildered by the game.
“I have one,” Daniel piped into the melancholy. “What’s brown and sticky?”
Nobody at the table guessed; they just shook their heads.
“A stick,” Daniel said.
Everyone burst into laughter, as much in relief as in actual humor. Daniel himself laughed as hard as anyone.
“Here’s another,” he said. “Which room has no door, no windows, no floor, and no roof? No guesses? A mushroom! Now, what is-?”
“Enough, Daniel, enough. Give another a turn, or at least a chance to breathe,” Godmund said, his pallid face sweaty and bright with laughing.
“One more, one more-what’s red and sticky?”
“Beeswax.”
“Strawberries.”
“Earwax.”
“Honey.”
“Nope, all wrong. Give up?” Everyone nodded enthusiastically. “It’s that bloody stick again!”
This brought the loudest roar yet, and even tears to some eyes.
Which was why no one noticed that Modwyn had entered. Stifffaced, she waited patiently for the laughter to die down. Everyone sobered when they caught sight of her, and the bellows gave way to chuckles that died silently.
“Ealdstan will see you,” she announced.
3
The grandly dressed Modwyn led Daniel and Freya, followed by Swi?gar and Ecgbryt, up staircase after staircase. They followed her with an increasing sense of cautious curiosity as they crept farther and farther up into the dark centre of the tower.
Daniel, walking behind Modwyn, broke the silence of their ascent. “Is Ealdstan really seventeen hundred years old?”
“As near as can be counted,” the ni?ercwen replied. “Time was measured differently when he was young. Days of birth were not recorded as they are now.”
“Is he a wizard?”
“Yes,” she began thoughtfully, “he could be considered one. The word wizard simply means ‘wise one.’ And Ealdstan is unquestionably the wisest of men.”
“Is he like the wizards in the books and fairy tales? Like Merlin or someone?”
“He may be,” Modwyn allowed. “It is possible that you have read about him already but do not know it. He has been called by many names throughout his life-cast his shadow upon the ages.” She thought for a few moments, then said, “What evidence there is in history, and what truth there is in myth, of the wise old men in your books and fairy tales has undoubtedly been Ealdstan. He has counseled kings, bishops, and emperors-but it is long since anyone sought his advice.”
“How long?”
“Over two hundred years.”
“Does he still go up to the real world?”
“No.”
“What does he do?”
“He studies now. There are his books, his own writings, the writings of others, the myths and wise tales of days long ago.”
“It sounds lonely,” Daniel said.
Stair after stair fell behind them. The carvings on the walls became less and less elaborate the higher they went until what was a beautiful embossed frieze depicting ocean life devolved, gradually, into a primitive running spiral. The bannister turned from an ornately wrought metal lattice of eels and seaweed into a simple twisted band. “That is the price he pays,” she said, and it took Daniel a few seconds to realise that she was still following the conversation.
“The price he pays for what?” Daniel asked.
“The price he pays for his wisdom. Wisdom, which is experience and reflection over time.”
“So the older he gets, the wiser he gets?”
“As do we all-almost all. There are some people and creatures who are proud, and who have exchanged wisdom for vanity.”
Daniel considered this. “But how wise is he, anyway?”
“How can I tell, unless I am as wise as he? Only wisdom can recognise itself.”
“Well, you’re old, so you must be wise too-unless you’re proud.”
Modwyn’s lips thinned in a small, brief smile. “The only thing I have learned in my long years is that I have not learned enough. I have always been wise enough to know that I am not as wise as I would like to be.”